


The Last Stand at The Redgrass Field

by CorsairLord



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsairLord/pseuds/CorsairLord
Summary: Bittersteel did not flee the Redgrass Field, and while the First Blackfyre Rebellion died that day, he ensured that Five Dragons would fall that day-not Three.





	The Last Stand at The Redgrass Field

The Bloodraven had taken everything from him, Shiera, Dark Sister and now he had taken his King and Princes from this world. 

But he had claimed his own prize, the Bloodraven’s eye. 

He prepared to bring Blackfyre down onto the kin and kingslayer when he heard the horn of retreat, and turned to see the banners of the Dornishmen and the Stormlords…alongside the banner of House Targaryen. 

The Breakspear had come, to act as the Hammer to Maekar’s Anvil. 

Turning back to the Bloodraven, he was gone, fled back into the encroaching lines of Maekar’s Westermen and Riverlords. 

 

“COWARD! I WILL KILL YOU BLOODRAVEN! I SWEAR IT!”

 

As he watched Daemon’s men crumble and break from the force of the Breakspear’s assault and Maekar’s advancing shieldwall, he leapt atop a nearby horse and rode deeper into the lines, noticing the last loyal men of Daemon's join his ride. 

Lyle ‘Redtusk’ Crakehall, his boar helm battered and bloody, his shield arm and side perforated by broken arrows. 

Robb Reyne, his red hair flowing wild as his face was stained with dirt and blood, Red Rain slick with blood. 

Black Byren Flowers, his black cloak and hood long since torn away, leaving only his burnished black iron armour. 

Gareth the Grey, solemn as a stone, even with a dirk sticking from his slowly draining left leg. 

Aubrey Ambrose, his mace caked with gore, his face battered as he tore off his greathelm. 

Edwyn Osgrey, his chequy surcoat bloodied and rent, his lifeblood slowly draining from his wounds. 

More knights and lancers joined Bittersteel’s vanguard as they rode hard down the lines, before they numbered more than sixty-a mere fraction of Daemon's original van but enough to finish the battle. 

 

“WE RIDE FOR DAEMON BLACKFYRE! WE. RIDE FOR THE KING WHO BORE THE SWORD! WE RIDE FOR VENGEANCE AND WE RIDE FOR DEATH!”

 

As Bittersteel held aloft Blackfyre, he signaled the vanguard to turn back around-into the Breakspear’s own host. 

He saw him then, the black armour of a Targaryen, the three headed dragon helm. 

 

“WE KILL THE BREAKSPEAR, MEN, AND THEN WE KILL MAEKAR! FULL CHARGE!”

 

As one, the vanguard roared a cry of anguish and rage, a final cry of death, and slammed into the Breakspear’s host. 

Bittersteel swung at anything that moved, urging his spurs into his mount’s bloodied sides. 

He would kill two Princes this day and he would avenge his King. 

Breakspear saw him, charging through his men, his vanguard of dying and dead men and to his credit, did not flee. 

As Bittersteel locked blades with the Breakspear, he saw Redtusk lanced through the chest by a Dornish Lord, his final act to behead the man before he fell off of his horse onto the bloody grass, dead. 

Bittersteel’s unrelenting rain of blows from Blackfyre finally brought down the Prince's cracked shield and with it, came Blackfyre. 

As it bit deep into the side of the Breakspear’s shoulder, purple eyes met purple eyes-one set fresh and filled with shock, one set bloodshot and filled with more rage than should have been possible.

“Five Dragons will die this day, Breakspear.”

And with those words, Bittersteel brought Blackfyre up once more and drove it through the Prince's armour, into his heart.

Almost as if the air were honey, Baelor Breakspear slowly fell from his horse, into the muddied and bloodied field and died, staring into the eyes of Aegor Rivers.

His deed done, Bittersteel fought his way out, the remnants of the vanguard following him, as they reached the last lines of Daemon's men. 

Looking to his sides, he saw that only Robb Reyne, Black Byren Flowers and Aubrey Ambrose and twelve others still rode with him. 

They would never be immortalized in song, but Bittersteel never cared for songs or stories. He knew that those who fell were the highest caliber of heroes, and hoped that they would keep his King company before he joined them as well.

 

“ONE LAST CHARGE, MEN! ONE LAST ENEMY! REMEMBER THOSE THAT FELL, AND DO NOT STOP UNTIL WE HAVE ENDED THOSE OF THE LINE OF THE FALSE KING! FOR KING DAEMON BLACKFYRE!”

 

And the vanguard responded, the names of those fallen heroes coming so easily.

 

“FOR FIREBALL!”

“FOR REDTUSK!”

“FOR GARETH THE GREY!”

“FOR OSGREY!”

“FOR PRINCE AEMON!”

“FOR PRINCE AEGON!”

“FOR THE BLACK DRAGON!”

 

With one final cry, the vanguard crashed into the anvil, and splintered it, allowing Daemon's men to filter in, widening the gap and giving support to the riders. 

At the forefront of the response was Prince Maekar Targaryen, wielding a heavy black mace, clad in much the same plate as his brother. 

With a swing from that mace, he battered the head of Black Byren Flowers’ horse, causing it to fall onto the knight, crushing him and allowing him to be stabbed to death by the Westermen footsoldiers. 

Not willing to take the chance, Aubrey Ambrose dismounted his own horse rapidly, running at the Prince, mace held aloft when a man wearing the colours of House Tully ran Aubrey through with a lance before trampling him underneath his horse. 

Bittersteel slew the man as soon as he came near, beheading him, before dismounting alongside Robb Reyne, the two cutting a bloody path to the Prince with their black and red blades.

Maekar responded in kind, charging into the pair, Robb Reyne shoving Bittersteel aside as he fell into the earth, Red Rain fallen far from his hand. As he looked up, the last thing he saw was Maekar’s great mace coming down, before it crushed his skull. 

Bittersteel was not one to let a friend go unavenged for long, and Maekar narrowly avoided having his arm removed by Blackfyre, edging back as Bittersteel dropped his shield into the earth and gripped Blackfyre with both hands. 

 

“For the King Who Bore The Sword, I will slay you.”

 

And with that, Bittersteel charged the Prince, locking Blackfyre against that great mace, and the two warriors, whose Dragon blood ever ran hot and fast met as equals.

 

“And for all those that have died because of your madness, I will slay you.”

 

With a mighty shout, Maekar pushed Bittersteel back, swinging fast at the man’s exposed flank. Unable to deflect it, Bittersteel prepared himself for the hit and instead traded hits with the Prince, Blackfyre sliding into one of the gaps of Maekar’s leg armour, as Bittersteel felt his ribs break, and began to cough blood, his lung punctured. 

Unrelenting, Bittersteel pressed on the stumbling Maekar, stabbing at the Prince's side, before he turned at the last second, cutting through the underarm chainmail instead of his armpit, as Maekar swung once more at Bittersteel’s side, this time crushing his left arm. 

Almost dropping Blackfyre, Bittersteel steadied himself one last time, his left arm limp at his sode, before charging into Maekar, pressing his shoulder up and into the Prince's helm. 

As Maekar fell off balance and fell into the now red grass, his boots slipping on Robb Reyne’s still warm blood, his helm came tumbling off. 

As he struggled to turn onto his side, Blackfyre ripped through his gorget and went deep into and through his neck, Bittersteel almost falling onto the Prince as he drove the sword deeper. 

All at once, the light left Maekar’s eyes, with nary a sound or a sight to mark his passing as Bittersteel grasped onto Blackfyre as he slowly felt darkness overtake him, numbing the pain as he felt swords run through his back and sides, oblivious to the world. 

His last thoughts as he died were of the Brother he loved, the Sister he desired, and the Brother he despised. 

 

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

  _Aegor 'Bittersteel' Rivers death was equal to his life-short, brutal, angry and ultimately futile. He is both reviled and remembered as Kinslayer, Traitor, Warrior and finally, a brother to King Daeron Targaryen, the Second. Burned on the Redgrass Field alongside his comrades, and his half-brother, in 196 AC._

-Maester Yandel


End file.
